Book vs real life: 23 weeks pregnant

Time is flying. 23 weeks pregnant. Soon it will be 30 weeks and then it’s the awful last few weeks of time draaaaaagging. For now, though, the second trimester is a happy time, most of the time…

I continue to love my pregnancy pillow more than I love my husband. Joking. Am I…? Though I’m waking up at 3am every night, mind racing. In some ways I’m feeling a lot more relaxed about this pregnancy, but I’m worried about adding another baby to the mix, about coping with two kids, and never sleeping again. I also think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a newborn, all prawn-like with floppy legs, tiny nappies and milky sick.

As the bump gets bigger I’m getting more aches and pains, and as much as I’d love to just flop on the sofa for the next four months, even I know that it won’t help. This week I’ve worked out twice; an hour with my PT/counsellor the lovely Lou from Tu Vida (she specialises in women getting into exercise after a long time, and those who are pre and post-natal) and a pre-natal reformer Pilates session at Real Pilates. I do feel better for going, and generally think that when you feel like exercising the least is when you need to do it the most. Easier said than done.

If you’re looking for a new pregnancy app, I highly recommend Ovia. It’s easy to use, with lovely graphics, and is light-hearted, offering you different themes for tracking the baby’s growth, week by week. For example, this week our little one is the size of an Atlantic puffin, a garden eggplant, a GI Joe or a demi baguette. It also has a disconcerting feature that shows you how big their hand is, compared to that of a newborn. It makes me think of hamster claws. Moving on.

This week we’ll celebrate finding a non-smug app and let Ovia tell us what’s going on with bump and baby at this stage of pregnancy…

The app says…

Little One is about to start gaining the baby fat that he needs to keep warm without your help, and his lungs keep developing. Gestational diabetes and preeclampsia are pregnancy conditions that may pose a serious threat to your health, and could develop around this time, so while it’s probably already scheduled with your healthcare provider, it’s important to make sure you get tested for these.

I say…

I wrote this post about being plus-size and pregnant, and shared some insights and advice. I’m taking my health and weight a lot more seriously this pregnancy (and was already carrying extra weight from the beginning, so can’t afford to gain too much). Sadly, pregnancy isn’t an excuse to hit the KitKats hard, and eating for two is myth, with expectant mums only needing around 300 calories extra each day. DAMN IT.

The app says…

Little One is still transparent, and a bit red because of the developing veins and arteries under his skin, but this won’t last long, as he is about to pack on the fatty chub that gives his skin a more person-like look. Little One’s face is fully formed, and is simply waiting on the fat to fill it out.

I say…

I have a scan on Saturday and am really excited to see her little face. I get pretty serious ‘scanxiety’, and tend to go really quiet before, worrying, then get a bit emotional after. This completely baffles my husband, as he is just keen to see the baby, and seems to ask every time “Were you worried? What were you worried about?”. Umm… everything!

The app says…

By now you know that Little One is starting to kick like crazy, usually in response to noises he hears from the outside world. Little One is also constructing the blood vessels in his lungs that will allow him to breathe air on his own once he is born.

I say…

Yes, some definite kicks, though her dad hasn’t felt them yet. I had a hot chocolate this morning and she went ballistic. I’m struggling (lots) with a name, so am playing her music – and ignoring advice about iPhones near bumps – to see if she responds to anything in particular. Phoebe was partial to Pitbull’s Fireball, which is a truly crap song, while this one had a good kick to Talk Show Host by Radiohead from the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack last night, so she has much better taste already. On an unrelated note, that film is now 20 years old, which makes me feel ancient.

The app says…

Other symptoms that might start popping up include forgetfulness and excessive snoring, though that one will probably bother your partner more than it bothers you. Braxton-Hicks contractions might also start setting in soon. They usually aren’t particularly painful, and are just a natural consequence of your uterus preparing itself to give birth.

I say…

Forgetfulness? Yes. Snoring? My husband would be pretty brave to point that out! Braxton-Hicks scare me, so hopefully that won’t happen until later. Last time I had some scary cramps and went to the hospital a few times, just for peace of mind, so if you’re in any doubt get yourself checked out.

In conclusion…

It would be really lovely to be a professional pregnant person, with no work, or responsibilities and plenty of time to cook healthy food (well, if we’re dreaming, someone else would cook for me), exercise and relax. But with a toddler and a bank balance to sort out this is fantasy fodder. But every pregnant woman should be trying to have a bit of time for herself, from a massage to a nap. And on that note, I’m going to have a nap.

ABOUT ME

I’m Helen Farmer, an editor and journalist, mum to 3-year-old Phoebe and one-year-old Tabitha, wife to Nick and a mummy blogger in Dubai (even though I don’t really identify as one, but I blog, and I’m a mum, so there you go). I’ve been living in the Middle East for the last 10 years, working in books, magazines and broadcasting, shedding some light on the good and bad of life, work and motherhood in the UAE.

ABOUT THE BLOG

The Mothership is for you if you’re a busy, active mum who can’t stand small talk, bad info and twee blogs that make out that mothering is all unicorns and rose petals, instead of admitting that you can love your child so much it terrifies you – while still wanting a night in alone watching The Great British Bake Off with a double G&T or a night out pretending you don’t have children.